I am lost inside my mind. Like a child, curious and wandering, my thoughts are wild, disjointed, unfocused.
In grade school, I asked for a typewriter. What child asks to be given a typewriter? But I wanted it, craved it, and I punched the keys on mint green paper, letters pounding, weaving their own trail. Words, my first love.
Even so young, I had already begun constructing the reality of my mind. The complex nexus, scenarios, plots. My mind is vulgar, creative, passionate, thoughtful, lust hungry, so much of the impure in this place. Makes me smile silently in the midst of people. How I wish they could read this mind.
But I fear being found. Letting someone in, so close to see the flawed within me. It’s as if I would be letting them trespass against my soul.